


forgot to remember

by bottomlinsons (grimgrace)



Series: drabblin' [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drabble, M/M, Misunderstandings, Tumblr Prompts, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5633785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimgrace/pseuds/bottomlinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>@oldladyalmighty asked for we drunk-kissed but you forgot about it and i don’t know how to act around you anymore for Larry :D </p>
            </blockquote>





	forgot to remember

**Author's Note:**

> @oldladyalmighty asked for we drunk-kissed but you forgot about it and i don’t know how to act around you anymore for Larry :D 
> 
> (Since this is just a drabble, I’ll only so a little excerpt, but I hope you like it! Also this means I can possible turn it into something bigger in the future, who knows?) 

 

Harry gets home from work at around four o’clock, the same time as any other day. He’d caught the train, like always, stumbled through the snow, like always, and fumbled with the keys three times before getting through the front door, like _always._

He’s halfway through the next step - making an instant beeline for the couch, where Louis always waits for him with a smile and a cup of steaming tea - when he realises something is amiss. 

Louis isn’t there, is the thing. 

Harry frowns. 

Louis’ definitely not out. Like, Harry’s no Sherlock Holmes, but it’s pretty easy to tell that he’s home. Harry can tell because Louis only ever wears one pair of shoes during the winter - a scuffed pair of vans that somehow keep Louis’s feet warm even without socks - and they’re propped up by the door. Above them, Louis’ bag hangs from a hook on the wall, a bright green hoodie swung over the strap. 

“Lou...?” he calls out cautiously. 

There is, of course, a chance that he’s sleeping - they’d had a big night out last night out, after all - but Harry had certainly drunk more than Louis had and he was fine. Louis wasn’t usually one for huge hangovers either, especially not while he was alone. When they both had the day off, Louis would lounge around the house all day and milk a headache for all it was worth - but when Harry wasn’t home, Louis usually got bored and found something else to do. 

Louis doesn’t reply to Harry’s call either, Harry notes. He worries for an awful second that Louis’ been murdered and it’s that thought that spurns him forward - straight to Louis’ bedroom door. 

He knocks urgently and pointedly doesn’t think of the Criminal Minds episode they’d watched last week. 

“Lou?” he says again. “Lou, are you - ?” 

Louis’ door swings open. 

"Oh,” Louis says - awake and, more to the point, _alive -_ “Hey.” 

Harry blinks at him. “Hey,” he replies. 

This is all very, very strange. 

“What’s up, dude?” Louis asks. 

He’s standing at his door quite oddly, holding his door half closed like he doesn’t want Harry to see inside. He’s got a funny looking expression on his face as well, his gaze darting every which way but never quite meeting Harry’s eye. 

Also, he and Louis have known each other for two and a half years and Harry could probably count the number of times Louis’ called him ‘dude’ on his fingers. One finger, even. 

“Uhm. Nothing?” Harry says. 

Louis doesn’t say anything. Just watches Harry - or watches the wall behind Harry, more specifically. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asks. 

Louis shrugs. “What? Oh, yeah. Sure, man.” 

Louis’ definitely never called him ‘man’ either. Harry’s been called a myriad of pet names, from ‘love’ and ‘babe’ to the more specific favourites like ‘curly’ or ‘Haz’, but never, _ever_  ‘man.’ 

Harry doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it one bit. 

“Uh, okay then,” Harry says. He watches Louis for another couple of seconds, not at all able to hide the confusion from his face. Louis doesn’t seem to notice though - how could he, when he’s not even looking? “I just thought I’d let you know that I was home,” he says. “In case you were sleeping or, uhm, something?” 

Louis smiles. It’s a thin lipped thing that Harry certainly isn’t used to seeing, at least pointed at him. That’s Louis’ _Nick Grimshaw_  smile. 

“Alright then,” he says. “Now I know.” 

“Uh, yeah. Now you know.” 

There’s a pause, a long drawn out beat wherein Harry’s brain frantically tries to figure out what’s going on, before Louis snatches the opportunity from him. “Okay,” he says. 

Then he shuts his door. 

He shuts his door right in Harry’s face. 

What the fucking hell is going on? 

Completely flummoxed (and actually quite hurt) Harry turns away from the door. Louis’ never been one to pull his punches, but usually when he’s pissed at Harry he’ll say so. He never acted like _this_ before. 

Almost on autopilot, Harry reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone. He turns it back on - he keeps it off while he’s at the bakery so he doesn’t get distracted while he works - desperate for something to do that isn’t thump on Louis’ door and demand an explanation. 

His phone buzzes in his hand, heralding him with all the texts he’s missed over the day. 

The first is from Niall. _About fucking time, lads!_ It says. 

The next is from Cara, just about how much she enjoyed the party last night. There’s another from Ed, saying the same thing. 

Nick has sent him two that are both about as vague as Niall’s though. _Make sure you don’t wake the neighbours, you slags,_ the first reads. The next says: _congrats tho!!!_

Harry, who can’t remember anything from last night later than about ten o’clock, feels an odd sense of nervousness swell in his belly. 

Liam has sent him ‘ _hahahahahahah cant beleve u guys,’_ which would be as useless as all the other texts only he’s also sent a picture. It, unlike the other messages, isn’t vague at all. 

One glance at the picture of him and Louis - pressed so intimately up against the wall of Liam’s flat snogging each other’s faces off - is all it takes for the memories of the moment to come rocketing back in glorious technicolor. 

“Oh,” Harry says. 

He blinks, swallows, then blinks again. Louis had tasted like butterscotch rum and cinnamon, something that was perhaps only so pleasant because of the almost two-year-old crush Harry had on him. 

“Fuck.”   

 

**Author's Note:**

> tbc?


End file.
